


If It Ain't Broke, Break It

by itjustwontquit



Category: Bat Out Of Hell: The Musical - Steinman
Genre: Assassination, F/M, Falco gets what he deserves, Minor Character Death, Post-Canon, The lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-02-01 04:17:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21373879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itjustwontquit/pseuds/itjustwontquit
Summary: After years of peace, Obsidian is plunged back into chaos. Raven remembers the events that brought them here.
Relationships: Raven/Strat
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	If It Ain't Broke, Break It

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a beautiful piece of art by skystarsdrawing which you can find [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/B1rPuvWpa6r/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link).

Raven looked out over a dying city. Her city, if she wanted it she supposed. There was irony; here, far away from Falco Tower, finally out of her father's grasp, she could lay claim to the very legacy he had created.

Strat was dying. There had been a skirmish– _ another _ , and she couldn't even remember what this one was supposed to be in retaliation for–and he had been stabbed, or shot, or there had been an explosion and he had been caught up in the blast–

She wasn't even sure what had happened any more. She had heard so many different variations on the story–it was one of The Lost–or a member of the militia–or he had done it to himself in all the confusion and chaos–no one seemed to know the truth. All anyone knew was that there had been a fight, that somewhere,  _ somehow _ , in the chaos, he had been injured. He'd been injured badly.

***

For a few precious years they had been able to hold on to a tenuous peace. It hadn't been perfect–after that first flush where they'd believed, truly believed that it would get better, it hadn't even really been good–but it had been far better than the constant bloodshed which they had grown so accustomed to. Peace, of a sort, reigned. There were no more protests, no more bodies dumped in the square with the marks of experimentation still clear on their skin. And Raven had gone with The Lost, gone with Strat, swearing that she would never set foot in Falco Tower again.

The Lost welcomed her, forgave her as she begged for forgiveness, loved her as she learnt to laugh freely, and to stop glancing over her shoulder, waiting for her father to burst in. Raven was, for the first time in her life, home. And of course Strat was there. Strat who she loved, who she had saved and who had saved her. Strat who had gone running into every fight with that mad grin on his face and fire in his eyes and a battle cry on his lips.

It was like a dream. The sun had never shone so brightly, every day was a gift. Sloane, whenever she was in Obsidian, spent most of her days in the Deep End in a futile effort to spend as little time as possible in Falco Tower, that empty palatial space which was filled with memories of a love that had strangled itself even as it grew. She tried not to talk about it with Raven, some part of her still wanting to protect her daughter, but they both knew that when Sloane wasn’t either with The Lost or wandering through the wilderness, she spent her time avoiding her husband, unable, or perhaps just unwilling, to face her ghosts.

They all knew where it had started to go wrong, all knew when the dream began to fade.

***

It started with Astroganger disappearing. That in itself wasn't so unusual–people often left, only to return days, weeks or even months later with new tales to tell. After all, they were young, the world was theirs for the taking, and if they knew now that they weren’t invincible, well then maybe some of them would begin to learn the meaning and importance of caution. It wasn’t even really unusual that he left without telling anyone–he was hardly the first among their number to be bitten suddenly by wanderlust, to leave in the dead of night, slipping away to leave an empty space to be discovered the next morning.

No, on the face of it, none of that was unusual. What was slightly more unexpected was what happened several weeks later.

***

_ Liberame and Judge burst into the room, breathing heavily and in obvious distress. Judge, trying to get his breath back, was gesturing wildly behind them, his words coming out garbled in between gasps for air. _

_ “There’s–in the tunnels–they just left him there–” _

_ “It’s Astroganger” _

_ Liberame, having managed to catch his breath, was bent almost double, his hands on his knees and a tortured expression on his face. _

_ “We,” he paused and glanced behind him, as though he was expecting something to follow them through the door. _

_ “We found his body–” _

_ He broke off as the room erupted into a cacophony of fearful muttering and outraged shouts. _

_ “–those bastards–” _

_ “–knew it couldn’t last–” _

_ “–why didn’t I  _ think _ –” _

_ In amongst all the noise, a small conference was being held; Strat, uncharacteristically serious, was speaking urgently with a number of The Lost. There was a stormy look on his face, one which had not been there since before Tink had died and his heart had broken. As the group disbanded, and various people drifted off through the crowd, a whisper made its way across the room. _

_ The next day they marched. _

***

From there it escalated. Falco’s militia retaliated, and it was as though the past three years had never happened. Once again there was blood on the pavements, the sound of shouting echoed across the square, and the tentative peace was shattered, like a brick thrown through a window during a riot. 

This time, Raven fought. She fought with the family which had taken her in; fought for them with every thrown brick, every hurled insult, every injury. And while the harsh walls of her old home looked on, uncaring, amongst The Lost she gained more than simply their affection, she earned their respect.

Every time before they went out to fight, she kissed Strat as though it was their last chance.

***

_ There was blood. Blood on the floor, blood soaking through Blake's shirt, blood on Zahara's hands, blood, blood, blood, dripping down Strat's chest, mingling with Raven's tears. _

_ She hadn’t seen it happen, hadn’t been there. Instead she had been on the other side of the square, thrown to the ground by an explosion some distance away. It wasn’t until the screaming started that she even realised that something had gone horribly wrong. Even then–even after she heard the screams–she was so disoriented from the force of the explosion that it was minutes before she was able to make her way through the confusion to its source. _

_ When she saw what had happened, it was as though time stopped. Strat was on the ground in a pool of blood–his blood–dark and rich and red like rubies glistening in the afternoon sun, and for one long moment there was nothing and no one else in the world. There was only him, with his bloodied hair haloed around his head like some fallen angel. _

_ Then the moment was over and chaos reigned once more. Blake was there with blood on his shirt and a vicious cut across his cheek–the militia were all around, still pushing forwards as though her world hadn't just stopped turning–and there was blood, blood, blood everywhere and Raven was screaming– _

_ It was an unearthly sound, that of something being unleashed, a sound which was wrenched from her lips, her throat, her soul– _

_ And then she was on her knees beside him, begging and pleading with tears pouring down her cheeks, and still around them the battle raged on. _

_ She was still pleading when Zahara and Blake lifted him up and carried him out of the square. _

***

Raven looked out over a dying city, and cried. She cried for her family, for her city, for the inevitable news that the boy she loved was dead.

Because he hadn't died, not immediately. He had lingered, somehow, despite the wounds which had only appeared worse once they’d got him away from the fighting. Lying in the Deep End, pale, unmoving, cold to the touch, he balanced on the boundary between life and death, never waking for more than a few pain-filled moments of delirium.

Raven had been unable to stand it. To see Strat, who had always been so alive, dying before her very eyes was more than she could stand. When she had thought him dead all those years ago it had almost killed her; now, older and wiser, she straightened her spine, raised her head, and threw all of her energy into taking down her father. It was, in her eyes, and in the eyes of them all, his fault that Astroganger was dead, that Vilmos would never walk again, that Strat was probably never going to wake up. It was his fault, and he would have to pay.

They stopped the protests. Instead they waited, watchful and wary, for Falco to feel safe enough that he let down his guard, giving them the opportunity they were looking for. They retreated into the tunnels, leaving only to keep track of what was happening in the city above their heads. No one was to leave without telling people where they were going, and how long they expected to be, and no one was to go out unaccompanied. It was too dangerous.

Whenever she was able, Raven made her way out of the city, and sat high above it, looking down at the streets below her. During the peace years, it had been the place where she and Strat had gone to escape the hubbub of the Deep End. He had told her stories–stories of what he remembered of his life before the war, stories of The Lost–and in return she told him about living in Falco Tower, unable to have a life of her own. It was there that she first confided in him that she thought she had frozen, there that she broke down in his arms out of sheer relief because, in spite of all his reassurances and promises, that he would leave her as she grew older had long been a fear of hers.

It was there that they finally brought her the news that Falco had left the tower without his militia for the first time in months, there that they plotted and planned, until they knew exactly what they were going to do.

***

_ They did it on a Monday. Every day, Falco would leave the tower to take a walk through the city–his newly reconquered domain–and that day was no different. At midday he left, made his way through the heart of the city, made his way–although he did not know it–to the end. _

_ They waited for him, ambushed him, and dragged him down to the Deep End. Raven was waiting there, sat beside Strat, gently stroking his forehead. When they arrived with Falco she glanced up, then rose and turned to look at him directly. He was bleeding from a cut on his cheek, his clothes were ruffled from the struggle, but as she looked at him she saw the same man who had raised her, who had loved and comforted her through her earliest years, and for a brief moment she hesitated. She forced herself to look again, and this time saw the tyrant who was killing her family, the man whose eyes were filled with disgust and contempt, who refused to have mercy on those in his power, and she felt her resolve harden.  _

_ If they didn't end it here, she knew that the end would never come; they would be trapped in this endless circle of retaliation until The Lost were decimated, and Falco was able to rule unopposed. She had known this day was coming, had spent hours separating in her mind the father who had doted upon her from the man who stood before her, bloodied and unafraid, with a glint of contempt in his eyes. He didn't think that they would do it. That  _ she _ would do it. _

_ And so she smiled–and what a smile it was, sharp and cruel as a knife–and she rose from her place beside Strat, her back straight, her head high, and her eyes hard. There would be no mercy on that day. _

_ They drowned Falco; forced him into a deep pool of filthy water and watched, waiting as he struggled against his bonds, until the water stilled and the room was silent. For a moment which stretched into ages, no one moved, no one spoke, no one breathed for fear that time would come crashing down around them. They were all painfully aware that what they had done was not comparable to killing someone in a protest. No, this had been an ambush–an assassination, cold-blooded and brutal–and some part of them feared that such an action could not be taken without there being repercussions. _

_ But the moment passed, the world continued to turn, and they breathed again. In the midst of the stillness, Valkyrie held Raven as her body shook with the force of silent, heaving sobs.  _

***

Raven looked out over a dying city and waited. Her eyes were dry; she had no tears left to cry. Her father was dead, her lover was soon to follow, and her mother had left, giving no indication of when, if ever, she planned to return. And Obsidian, after years spent being witness to a vicious and bloody struggle, found itself leaderless. Like so many of its inhabitants, Obsidian was frozen, trapped in the vacuum left by the loss of those whose blood had flowed through its veins. And Raven sat high above it all, waiting for her time in limbo to come to an end.

Jag brought her the news. When she heard him arrive, she wondered, somewhere in the back of her mind, whether The Lost had drawn straws to decide who would go.

"He's–"

He broke off. His voice was raw and choked, and although she knew what he was going to say, Raven flinched.

There was another voice–Zahara's, although her voice was so low it was barely recognisable.

"He's gone."

It was as though she had been punched. The news that the boy she loved was dead, no matter how much she had been expecting it, left her choking on her own breath. She stumbled towards them, blinded by the sudden flood of tears, and they held onto each other, those three lost souls, held on as a world came down around their heads, as though connection were a lifeboat and they were drowning. And as they stood there, others joined them, in dribs and drabs at first, then all at once, forming an island in this sea of grief. There would come a time for leadership, for strategy and for taking back their city, but now it was a time for friendship.

The Loss stood above a dying city and looked up at the stars as they grieved.


End file.
